One Saturday Afternoon
by Canadian Hogan's Fan
Summary: On his day off, Schultz is left in charge of his nephew while his wife goes to the store. What could possibly go wrong?


AN: A quick explanation before I begin. Inhonoredglory and I were talking and she came up with the idea of using song titles as first line prompts for a challenge. So, we decided to try it, using six titles we came up with. This story is from the song _Three Little Fishes._

The usual disclaimer. I can only lay claim to the OC, the neighbour.

"Three little fishies and a mama fishie too. 'Swim,' said the mama fishie, 'Swim if you can,' And they swam and they swam all over the dam."

Schultz moaned, putting his hands to his ears as his chubby nephew danced around the living room, belting out the English words. _That's the last time I teach him any songs the prisoners sing in camp, no matter how bored he gets._

"Wolfie," he said. "Would you mind being quiet for just a little while, please? Uncle Hans is getting a headache."

The boy turned to him. "Boop boop diddim daddum waddum chu! Boop boop diddim daddum waddum chu!"

Schultz sighed. "Why can't you be nice? You're usually such a good boy."

The 'good boy' blew him a raspberry in reply.

His uncle rubbed his forehead, glancing at the beer tankard on the side table beside him. "Oh, brother. This is worse than having guard duty in a snowstorm. Why did you do this to me Gretchen, why? This was my first day off in months. I wanted to spend it putting my feet up, enjoying some of that good beer I've been saving. Instead, I come home to find a little monster turning my house upside down because his mother is in Berlin and you volunteered to babysit."

Wolfie pointed a sticky finger at Schultz. "You're talking to yourself like a crazy person! I'm telling!"

Schultz held up to his hands and glared at the ceiling. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"I'm telling, telling, telling," the boy sang, borrowing the fish song's melody.

The easy chair squeaked as its rotund liege rose and knelt beside his nephew, who backed away. "I don't want you!" Wolfie cried. "I want Auntie Gertie!"

Schultz sighed. "Auntie Gertie had to go shopping. She should be back any minute." His face brightened. "I know. Why don't we go play catch until she gets back?"

"I don't want to!"

Schultz crawled to the toy chest behind him and opened the lid. "Come now," he said, rummaging through the balls, toy soldiers and teddy bears he'd brought home from the Schatze Toy Company over the years. "What boy doesn't like to play catch?"

Wolfie eyed Schultz's rump as it wiggled in the air and wound up for a kick worthy of a professional footballer. Schultz's head jerked up, connecting with the chest lid as he yelped.

"That's not nice!" he barked, rubbing his skull. "I ought to spank you for that." The terror stuck out his tongue as Schultz took out a faded red ball. "Now, we're going to play catch because I said so!"

With that, the older man marched out of the house and closed his eyes as he inhaled the smell of freshly cut grass and blooming tulips on the warm air. "Ah, Wolfie, who wants to spend an afternoon sitting like a lump in the house on a day like today? Isn't this marvelous?" He opened his eyes and turned around when he received no reply. "Wolfie? Wolfie?" His throat tightened. "Wolfie, answer me!"

"What?" he snapped.

Schultz scowled. "Come here!"

"No!"

"Get out here now, or I'll tell _de __Butzemann_(1) where to find you!" He winced at the flurry of pounding footsteps preceding Wolfie, who ran past him into the yard. _At least some things haven't changed. _ "Now," he said, holding up the ball. "Back up as far as you can and get ready to catch it."

He wound his arm and made an underhand throw when Wolfie reached the weathered fencing across from his uncle. The child stared at the ball as it fell short and rolled to his feet.

Schultz shook his head. "Don't just stand there! Pick it up!"

Wolfie groaned, but did what he was told.

"Now, throw it!"

The boy drilled the ball into the grass.

Schultz clicked his tongue as he retrieved it. "That's no way to throw a ball. Let me show you."

He wound his arm again and threw the ball with greater force. Wolfie looked up, dancing on the spot as it sailed toward him and bounced off his face with a stomach-turning crunch.

"Wolfie!" Schultz cried, rushing over as his nephew screamed. "I'm so sorry. Are you all right? Where did it hit you?" He bent the five-year-old's head back and shuddered at the stream of blood flowing from his nose. "Keep you head like that, now. Can you get in the house?"

"I want my mama!" Wolfie howled. "I want Auntie Gertie!"

Schultz put his arm around the child's shaking form and led him inside. "Don't cry. Everything's going to be fine. You just have to be brave until Uncle Hans gets you a cloth for your nose."

"Is something the matter?"

Schultz looked up, meeting the appraising stare of the spindly woman leaning on his fence. "Not a thing, Mrs. Hollekamp. We were just enjoying the fresh air."

She put her hands in the pockets of her dirt-smeared gardening dress. "You should enjoy them more quietly. Some of us like hearing the birds when bombs aren't raining down on us."

"I'll remember that in the future, Mrs. Hollekamp, _danke_." He turned to Wolfie and lowered his voice. "Let's get inside quickly. That old busybody will have our business spread around faster than I can eat a strudel. She's caused more trouble between your aunt and me than anything else in our marriage. She's always seeing things, like strange women stopping by her house, looking for me, and me coming home late from the Hofbrau. Such lies she tells." He paused. "Well, maybe not about the Hofbrau."

Wolfie groaned. "I wanna go home."

Schultz ushered him through the door. "All right, wait here and I'll bring you something for your nose." He waddled off to the bathroom. "What a day. Everyone's going to think I've been to the Russian Front when I report back to camp tomorrow. I may as well have been, for all the rest I've gotten." He grabbed a face cloth and ran it under the water, jumping back when a few drops splashed on his hand. "_Verdammt_, that's cold. But it should do the trick."

"You swore!" the boy shouted from the hall. "I'm telling Auntie Gertie!"

Schultz felt his teeth grind together. "Please, Wolfie, don't say anything. I'm in enough trouble already." He turned the tap off and returned to the hall, the cloth dripping on the stained carpet. "Now, put this on your nose and you'll feel much better. I promise."

The child cried harder and tried to run when Schultz pressed the cloth to his face. "It's too cold! I don't like it!"

The older man sighed. "Wolfie, I'm doing the best I can. Please cooperate for just a moment." He smiled. "I know what will make you feel better. Go lie down and Uncle Hans will bring you a special treat, your auntie's butter cookies!"

Wolfie's eyes lit up. "Really?"

His uncle nodded. "Really. Now go lie down."

The boy started for the living room. "I want to sit in your chair."

"Can you lie down in a chair? I think not." Schultz glanced down at his blood streaked plaid jacket and headed for the kitchen. _Better rinse this off. Now, what did Gertrude say to use? Soap and cold water? Hot water?_

He bent under the cupboards above the sink, turned on the cold water and scrubbed his sleeves. "It's not working!" he growled. "It won't come clean."

_Maybe I need hot water._

He turned on the hot water and continued scrubbing with marginally better results.

"Uncle Hans!" Wolfie called.

Schultz turned off the water. "Ya?"

"Where's my cookies?"

"Give me a minute." Schultz frowned. "Are you alright? You sound funny."

"Ya. Uncle Hans, can I have more than one plate of cookies?"

He laughed. "Why not. Would you like some juice too?"

The boy hiccupped. "No thank you. I had some juice here. It tasted really funny."

His uncle frowned. "What are you talking about? I didn't leave any juice out." _Oh no._ He banged his head against the cupboard as he bolted up. "Wolfie! Wolfie! Don't move!"

"Too late," he replied in a singsong voice.

Schultz froze, his jaw dropping when he reached the living room. His nephew's bloody sailor shirt, short trousers, long stockings, underwear and belt-buckled shoes lay in a heap on the floor as Wolfie swayed back and forth a few feet away.

"Wolfie! What's the meaning of this? Put your clothes back on, immediately!"

The child giggled. "They're all dirty. I need new ones."

Schultz's hands balled into fists. "Do what I say!"

His charge took a few wobbly steps forward. "You'll have to catch me first."

"Wolfie!" Schultz barked. "Settle down right now, or I'll tell your mother you've been naughty." _Wait,_ _how can I tell on him without explaining how I got him drunk in the first place?_

Wolfie darted past him and out the door, singing at the top of his voice as he slammed it behind him.

Schultz's heart rate jumped a few points higher than was safe for his body mass as he grabbed a quilt off the couch. "Wolfgang Hans Schultz, what are you trying to do, give me nightmares?" he screeched. "Get back here right now, or I will have _de_ _Butzeman_ swat your behind!"

He hurried after the naked five-year-old, now dancing in the middle of the yard, breaking into a sprint as the boy ran behind the pine tree by Mrs. Hollekamp's house.

"Halt!" he cried, wiping his brow. _Who knew a drunken boy could run so fast? All I need right now is for someone to see us._

A scream pierced his ears. He stopped in time to see Mrs. Hollekamp cover her eyes as Wolfie emerged from the tree, bent over and wiggled his backside back and forth in front of her.

"Herr Schultz!" she howled. "I've never seen such a vulgar display in my life! Thank heavens Gertrude isn't here now to see what you've done to this poor, sweet child. What have you got to say for yourself?"

Schultz took a deep breath and grabbed the boy's arm. "Well, I say, if you don't like what you see in your neighbour's yard, then, perhaps, you shouldn't look. Now, if you'll excuse us."

He wrapped the quilt around his nephew and marched them back into the house.

oOo

"'ello, Schultzie!" Newkirk hollered, waving to the approaching sergeant, who walked as if he had a stone in his boot. "Say, you don't look so good for a man who just came off leave. What happened?"

He held up a hand. "It's a long story, and I don't want to talk about it."

The Englishman nodded. "Well, I've got something that'll cheer you up. While you were gone, Carter convinced LeBeau to make a Yank dessert for his birthday."

Schultz paused. "You're joking."

Newkirk shook his head. "Straight up. He says his uncle brought this pie back from Tennessee once. It's some kind of crackers stuffed with fluffy white filling. It's sweeter than any piece of strudel, mate."

He licked his lips. "That sounds wonderful. What's it called?"

"Carter says they're Moon Pies."

Schultz shuddered and hurried away. "I see nothing! I hear nothing! I know nothing!"

Newkirk's eyebrows rose as Carter approached with a tray of samples. "Where's Schultz going?" the American asked. "Didn't you tell him we saved him some Moon Pie?"

Newkirk rubbed his chin. "Something tells me he doesn't want any."

Carter shrugged and nibbled on a piece. "Oh well. More for us!"

(1) Bogeyman.


End file.
